


Capgras Syndrome

by LostyK, Odaigahara



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Captivity, Dark, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, Morally Neutral Dark Creativity | Remus "The Duke" Sanders, Parallel Universes, Sympathetic Deceit | Janus Sanders, Temporary Character Death, Torture, Unsympathetic Deceit | Janus Sanders, Whump
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-01
Updated: 2021-02-23
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:27:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 17,834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28487553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LostyK/pseuds/LostyK, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Odaigahara/pseuds/Odaigahara
Summary: Janus couldn’t be sure where he was, not yet; for all he knew, he could be in a pocket of the Subconscious, some shadowed crevice where his darkest fears had taken form. Vengeance from Roman, maybe, or a trick from Remus.Oh, who was he kidding, he’d just died.Or:Janus wakes up in a different Thomas, with a different Deceit. Things go badly from there.
Relationships: Anxiety | Virgil Sanders & Deceit | Janus Sanders, Dark Creativity | Remus "The Duke" Sanders & Deceit | Janus Sanders
Comments: 70
Kudos: 122
Collections: TSS Fanworks Collective





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you Para for beta reading!
> 
> Warnings for this chapter in the end notes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Capgras Syndrome:** _a psychiatric disorder in which a person holds a delusion that a friend, spouse, parent, or other close family member has been replaced by an identical impostor._

Lies were the first sensation to return, promptly followed by pain. Janus groaned, folding in on himself and trying to bring up an arm to shield his chest, but cold shackles stopped him short. That was about the time he realized that he’d died.

Trying to talk to his double hadn’t worked, then. Given his track record, he supposed immediate success would have been too much to ask.

He forced open his eyes, trying to pull himself upright, and stopped cold. Wherever he was, he didn’t recognize it-- and he should have recognized every part of the Dark Side. The realization left a sour taste in his mouth. 

Janus couldn’t be sure where he was, not yet; for all he knew, he could be in a pocket of the Subconscious, some shadowed crevice where his darkest fears had taken form. Some cruel simulation of himself as the monster, as the viper unwisely allowed into Thomas’s home. Vengeance from Roman, maybe, or a trick from Remus. 

Oh, who was he kidding, he’d just _died._ If this had been a simulation, sheer instinctive self-preservation would have made the Mindscape toss him out into his room to heal. Waking up in some kind of _dungeon_ should never have been part of the equation. Wherever he was, it wasn’t anywhere he knew. 

There was a phantom ache between his ribs from where the knife had slid in, and he did his best to curl around it as much as he could. The imposter hadn’t said anything as Janus had bled out, just watched him with cold eyes.

Granted, Janus might have done the same, but he also would have attempted to _talk_ first. Would have tried for a monologue, at the very least. The ruthlessness had been the strangest part. 

Why wouldn’t one Deceit want to investigate another? The appearance of a new Side could mean so many things. For Thomas’s sake, if nothing else, there should have been some sort of exchange.

The door across from him opened, letting in some meagre light from the hallway outside. Janus forced his body to relax, to straighten out so there would be no sign of his weaknesses. Appear to be the one at ease in the situation, so then the other person would be on edge.

Whoever was in the doorway hesitated before stepping in, and that was how Janus knew that it wasn’t the false Deceit. He slinked in like an alley cat coming indoors for the first time, tense and ready to bolt at any second. Janus recognized the other Side’s bearing with a rush of relief and had to hide a smile. 

“It’s about time you showed up,” he drawled, leaning against the wall and doing his best to shift any signs of lingering pain away. “I was starting to worry.”

Virgil came closer, shadows from the door throwing his face into odd relief, and the relief collapsed into wary concern. Anxiety was _thin,_ more than he should have been with Patton and Roman’s constant kitchen experiments and Janus’s own modest attempts at making the Dark Side close to civilized. His face was pale, shoulders up in a way that looked less aggressively defensive and more on the verge of flight, and his hoodie was a solid black shape in the gloom.

The usual black under his eyes was more of a cloudy gray, failing to hide the very real exhaustion in his expression. Janus felt a chill crawl up his spine. 

Virgil didn’t speak, just glanced back at the doorway before moving forward, coming into Janus’ reach. There was something clutched in his hands, his fingers white around it. Virgil put the object down and then scurried backwards until his back hit the wall.

Janus waited to see if Virgil was going to do anything else, but he just watched from the shadows. Slowly, Janus crawled closer to see what Virgil had put down - it was a tupperware container, and when he pulled it towards him, he could see that there was food inside it. Something about the sight made his gut sink heavily.

He was being brought food by an uncommunicative captor. That didn’t bode well for the likelihood of conversation, did it. 

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he said, testing the Virgil-copy’s reaction. The sight of him all in black and reticent made his chest clench with unwanted memories, dangerously close to regret, but he pushed past it. This situation required cunning, not useless sentimentality-- and Virgil had never been so dreadfully skinny. “All that effort and not even a word to your helpless captive? I’m _not_ afraid I’ll have to retract some villain points for that.”

No response, not even to the in-joke. Janus met the copy’s eyes, relieved to find a hint of wary dislike, and said, “Really, Virgil. Is this the best hospitality you have to offer?”

Virgil froze at that, lips drawing back in a reflexive snarl. Janus doubted he even realized he was doing it. “What did you just call me?” he demanded, then paled even further, darting another glance at the door. Janus glanced after him and revised the chances of his other self listening in from fifty percent to one hundred. A Light Side wouldn’t have been able to resist chiming in.

“My apologies,” Janus drawled, watching Virgil carefully. “Is there another name you’d prefer?”

Virgil glanced at the door and then took a step closer. “Why did you call me that?” he said, lowering his voice. “You’re not-- I’m Anxiety. You know who I am.” 

Was he _testing_ that assertion? Curiouser and curiouser. Janus sat up straighter, holding in a gasp at the jostle of his ribs, and said, “Of course I do. How could you expect otherwise?”

“Stop that,” Virgil snapped, and the sight of some kind of emotion other than fear was a relief. “I know what you are.”

“Is that so?” Janus raised an eyebrow. “Perhaps you could enlighten me, in that case. As far as I know, I woke up here less than an hour ago. And I _do_ know you, Anxiety. I’d say I know you rather well.”

“You don’t know me at all,” Virgil replied, and then stopped and shook his head. “You’re not real. You’re just some construct.”

“Of course I’m not, we’re all part of Thomas’s mind,” Janus said automatically, and then the second part of the sentence sunk in. Shit. “I’m a construct, is that it? That’s news to me.” He pretended to consider, then added, “Then again, it would make sense to make one who thought it was a real boy, wouldn’t it. _Much_ less convincing. What would you expect my purpose to be, if I’m not as real as you?”

“Sounds like something you should try to figure out,” Virgil spat, actually bristling.

With that, Virgil turned and marched towards the door, and fear rose up in Janus once more. As unsettling as this wrong Virgil was, it was still better than being left alone in the dark. The door slammed shut behind Virgil, and Janus slumped backwards, letting his head hit the wall.

What a lovely beginning. He sighed, bringing his knees up to his chest, and glared at the shackles around his ankles and wrists. 

Whatever happened, it seemed he’d be here for a while. He might as well put the time to some use.

*

The next two days brought only Virgil, bearing meals so obviously cribbed from the back of the refrigerator that Janus was almost offended. Strawberry yogurt. A single piece of whole wheat bread. _Kefir,_ of all things. If nothing else informed him that Virgil had been put in charge of providing him with enough sustenance not to waste away, the food choices would have. He was half-expecting a buffet of cheese puffs and fun-sized Snickers bars for dinner.

Virgil said nothing when he entered, despite Janus’s prodding; on the second day Janus kept just as quiet, observing and letting himself be observed. Virgil was jumpy, mouth twisting every time he caught Janus’s eye, and he never held his gaze for more than a moment. 

Speaking up unexpectedly made him jump, eyes going wide and shoulders going tense as bowstrings, but keeping silent seemed to make him a curiosity. Virgil stayed longer when Janus held his tongue. As much as he hated to admit it, even that meager company was soothing. Janus had never been so long without some form of stimulation, whether philosophy or Remus’s company. He was aching to draw _Virgil_ of all Sides into a conversation about utilitarianism.

Two days, and he never saw his impostor. It shouldn’t have been long enough to make him surprised at a visit, but, well-- he was going to chalk it up to food deprivation. No matter how desperate things got, he was _not_ drinking strawberry Faygo. Janus had standards.

So when the door opened on the third day, he perked up at the chance to see Virgil again, only to freeze when the figure in the doorway stood tall and proud. Even unable to see the scales on his face, Janus recognised his own silhouette.

His lips drew back. “Lovely of you to finally make an appearance,” he said. His counterpart felt sour _,_ almost bitter in his intensity; it made Janus want to tear him down, trip him up until he lost the thread.. It was the least this bastard deserved for chaining him up like a heretic under the Inquisition. “Have you decided to fatten me up for the oven? Should I start hoarding chicken bones now?” 

Janus resisted the urge to smirk at the look of annoyance on the imposter's face. Good, maybe now he’d give some sort of clue as to what was going on. The other Deceit strode forwards, stopping just in front of Janus, and Janus met his gaze defiantly.

But the imposter said nothing. He backhanded Janus across the face, and the sheer shock of it sent him to the ground. It was a good backhand; he’d put his entire body into it, clearly intending to make it as hard a blow as possible.

Janus spluttered, pained tears popping up at the corners of his eyes, “What the _hell_ was that for?”

“Insolence, mostly,” the impostor said, and the sound of his own sharp, honeyed voice made Janus still. “Five seconds in your company and I’m already sick of hearing you talk. You’re such a _poor_ substitute.”

“How funny,” Janus rasped, meaning nothing of the sort. “I was just about to say the same of you.” The shock of the blow made his cheek hot and smarting, radiating pain; he grimaced past it and snapped, “Is there a reason you _killed_ me? I thought Deception was all about civil conversations.”

“An _extremely_ poor substitute,” the impostor amended. “Tell me, _Deception_ , where do you come from?”

“The other side of the rainbow,” Janus said blithely. “I was born from children’s laughter and summoned by their most saccharine dreams.”

The impostor looked disappointed, like a schoolteacher whose pupil had given a truly idiotic answer. Janus was familiar with the feeling, which really just made things worse. “Last chance, _Deceit._ Unless you’d like to make another jibe?”

“Fuck off,” Janus snapped. “If you seriously intend to continue with this, this _farce--”_

The imposter sighed and stepped forwards. Janus tensed, bracing himself for another slap.

It never came. Instead his other self kicked him in the chest, sending phantom agony through his lungs, and before he could get up, could recover or pull his limbs in to shield them, the impostor brought down his _foot--_

Janus’s fingers had been curled against the ground, braced and scrabbling. His counterpart crushed them, buckling them with his weight; something small and vital collapsed with an audible _snap_. 

Janus _screamed_. Hot tears welled up in his eyes and slid down his face; he was no longer able to stop them. When he blinked them away enough to be able to see, the imposter was kneeling in front of him, watching his reaction with reptilian interest. 

“Just so we understand each other,” the impostor said. Janus bared his teeth, too shocked and agonized to trust himself with words, and his counterpart smiled in cruel recognition. 

He left the room, closing the door behind him with all decorum, and Janus dragged himself against the wall to cradle his hand to his chest, closed his eyes and forced himself to breathe.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Janus tries to figure out what the hell is going on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW's for this chapter at end notes!

Problems required solutions. Human beings were more complicated than perhaps Logan could comprehend, but they were Janus’s specialty, and even Sides had wants and weak spots, buttons he could press to get a reaction. 

He may not have known this impostor’s mind, but Janus thought he might know his instincts, might be able to follow the twisted paths they’d reached to come to the conclusions they evidently had. No danger of sympathizing with the enemy, not when his fingers were bloody and immobilized; selfishness was too useful a trait for that, pushing him to think  _ survival first. _

This other him was still Deceit, however twisted. He  _ felt _ like denial, like secrets and schemes and cruel things hidden from the light. He didn’t feel like Self-Preservation, protect-the-ego or holding-steady-- none of the mental names Janus had given his roles, the less apparent but most important of his functions. He was like a caricature of Roman’s worst thoughts about him, an unrepentant monster wearing the face of a viper, and his mere presence was  _ infuriating.  _

If this was some new world, some alternate Thomas, this Deceit couldn’t be anything but detrimental. Virgil seemed  _ scared,  _ for fuck’s sake. Virgil never needed any help seeming scared; there was no reason whatsoever for this impostor to have pushed that along. And where were the other Sides? Where was Remus, who should have barged in by now to harass the so-called construct out of curiosity? Where were the Light Sides?

The thought that they just didn’t exist-- that this Deceit had torn them away somehow, locked them up one by one and cut them loose like an incompetent gardener pruning a tree-- crossed his mind, but he pushed it down. Surely not. That would have been beyond the pale. It wasn’t-- it  _ couldn’t _ be an option.

Clearly all Janus should do was lie in wait, the snake in the grass, and gather as much information as he could. Then he could formulate a proper plan and carry it out. Until then, rampant speculation could only psych him out.

The door opened and Janus pushed himself back against the wall, cradling his mangled hand close to him. Until he figured out what the other version of him wanted, he had to make sure he gave him nothing, and that was going to hurt. 

But the newcomer darted in jerkily, as if expecting something to sneak up behind him, and Janus relaxed. Only Virgil. Flighty, cautious Virgil, who wouldn’t attack unless attacked first. His eyes darted around the room, and he relaxed slightly when they settled on Janus.

They flicked to his hand next, something sick and regretful flashing through them, and Virgil rasped, “You really should just do what he says, y’know.”

Janus stiffened. “Is that so? I’d never have guessed,” he snapped, acerbic as he could manage. “Allow me to formulate the slightest unlikely guess, and you’ll tell me if it’s accurate: can I assume he’s playing the villain completely? Shall I expect the  _ bore worms?” _

Virgil blinked and said, edging another glance back at the door, “He’s, uh, not exactly Ming the Merciless, but-” He bit his lip, and Janus saw with a chill that it was already bitten bloody, an anxious tic gone out of hand. “It hurts less if you go along with it. So you probably should.”

“Why, Anxiety,” Janus said, because keeping silent meant letting the rising horror engulf him, letting his instincts drown out all rational thought.  _ It hurts less _ , Virgil said, like he knew from personal experience. And he jumped at Janus’s voice, was so careful and defensive, kept staring at Janus like he didn’t know what to make of him or if he could trust him enough to avert his eyes. Nausea rose in the back of his throat. “Are you saying you care for the wellbeing of a construct? What  _ would _ your friend the liar say?”

Virgil paled further, and Janus didn’t want to think about what that meant - couldn’t help thinking about what that meant.

“If you do what he wants he’ll be happy,” Virgil said defensively. “It’s not like you need to get hurt.”

“So you’re the altruist,” Janus said. “And where does that leave Remus?”

Virgil stiffened, lips drawing back. “You should definitely do what he says, if he’s bringing up the Duke,” he hissed, all of him quivering with tension, the unavoidable urge to flee. “Not that I give a shit what happens to you, but if it’s up to Remus- look, there’s no reason to keep your mouth shut.  _ Nothing’s _ worth that.”

Only long habit kept Janus’s face steady; his hands twinged, mangled fingers sending sparks of pain up his arm, wanting to silence Virgil so he’d stop talking, stop saying these things that couldn’t be true because why  _ would _ he, how  _ dare _ he, what could this impostor imagine he was  _ doing  _ that Remus was accustomed to being a torture device-- “I’ll be sure to keep that in mind,” he said, forcibly calm. 

Virgil relaxed just a little, inching closer and dropping the paper plate close enough for Janus to reach: three fruit roll-ups and a bottled smoothie, thanks  _ ever  _ so much, Virgil. Janus was beginning to wonder if anyone made sure this idiot ate proper food.

Janus went for the smoothie first; balanced the bottle against his legs and struggled to undo the top one handed. Virgil moved forwards, one hand outstretched, and Janus flinched backwards, toppling the bottle over and sending it rolling across the floor. Janus and Virgil stared at each other, eyes equally wide, and then Virgil bent, telegraphing every move before he made it, and picked up the bottle. He unscrewed the lid and placed it back next to the plate, and then stepped back.

Janus regained his voice first. “Thank you,” he managed, drawing it close but waiting to drink. There was no need to obscure his vision and expose his neck in one fell swoop, even with only Virgil in the room; this wasn’t his Virgil, no matter how similar he seemed to Janus’s one-time best friend. He was under the impostor’s thumb, following his orders, and that made him an enemy. The most this Virgil could ever be was a means to an end.

And since he seemed as though he might be sympathetic… 

“I’d really love to impose,” Janus said, thinning his lips, “but could you open the fruit roll-up as well? It’s rather difficult to do one-handed.” He did technically have four other hands, but whatever power kept him from sinking out had pinned them to his sides, incorporeal and useless. Functionally, he was down to one.

Virgil nodded, and knelt in front of Janus. It was the closest he’d ever gotten for more than just a moment; Janus kept himself still, certain that the slightest movement would send Virgil running.

“Here,” Virgil said, handing the opened fruit roll-ups to him. After a moment’s hesitation, he blurted, “Don’t mention the Light Sides unless he asks. He, uh, he doesn’t like it when you talk about them.”

So there were still Light Sides. And it seemed they’d been making themselves a thorn in the impostor’s side. That made them potential allies, assuming Janus could convince them not to kill him on sight.

“Is that a mistake you’ve made in the past?” Janus murmured. Virgil jerked back, face setting into a glare. “Who am I going to tell? Presumably Deceit already knows, if he was the one who got angry.”

“Fine,” Virgil spat, “Yeah. I’ve made that mistake. So maybe you should believe me when I say don’t  _ fucking  _ do it.”

Janus knew that he shouldn’t keep pushing; the best case scenario was that Virgil pushed back, the worst was that he left. But it was the most information he’d gotten since he’d arrived at this upside-down world, and there was more he needed to know.

“You must see them a lot,” he said, and Virgil tensed. “I can’t imagine they like having a Dark Side around Thomas.”

“Don’t mention Thomas, either,” Virgil snapped, and left the room. Janus watched after him, aching pointlessly to stand up and follow, to say  _ please don’t stop biting your lip, you’re definitely supposed to be picking at it--  _ but of course he couldn’t. He had to prioritize himself. He had to prioritize  _ his  _ Thomas, his friends and former enemies. He couldn’t afford this weakness.

“Lovely,” he muttered, retreating to the wall with fruit tape in hand. “A me who can’t bear the thought of Thomas. What’s the  _ point _ of him?”

He waited, watching to see if the door opened again- to see if his impostor was listening, if he could be provoked- but nothing happened. Not the right button, then-- or perhaps he’d be punished later, left to lull into a false complacency so his other self could pull out the rug from under him. 

Janus drew his lips back in a silent snarl. Perhaps that tactic worked with Virgil, paranoid and beaten-down as he was, so isolated he startled at the hint of smile-- but it wouldn’t work on  _ him _ . Whatever this other self tried, Janus would endure. He was Deceit, Self-Preservation, Safety-In-Cunning; if his impostor wanted a battle of wills, Janus was all too willing to take up the challenge.

*

The next time the door opened, it was the impostor again. Janus straightened, forced himself to stay where he was; if he showed weakness, the other Deceit would pounce.

“How’s your hand?” the impostor asked.

Janus curled his hand close to his chest subconsciously. “Never been better.”

The impostor smiled indulgently, like a parent whose child had just spouted nonsense. “Perhaps you’ll be more careful with your other one. Is there anything you’d like to tell me?”

“I have some notes on your presentation,” Janus said, and the impostor's face darkened. “Have you tried acting like a human being instead of a space opera version of Dr. Facilier? As things stand, I’m very nearly expecting you to order Anxiety to bring you the mind probe. Does the concept of rational conversation escape you? Are you capable of conversing with another Side for mutual benefit, or does your love of tormenting your own allies keep you from your full potential?” 

His expression nearly faltered-- damn, he shouldn’t have said that, it made it sound as though he cared for Virgil-- but he pressed on. “Is this really the only method you can come up with to get information? Because if so, Deceit, I  _ hate _ to tell you this, but it’s not exactly subtle.”

He knew the blow was coming, was able to brace for it, but it still  _ hurt _ . The impostor's fist connected with his head, making lights dance in his vision, and before he had the chance to react, or even to take a breath, another blow hit him in the stomach. He curled in on himself, drawing both hands close to his chest.

“What mutual benefit could you possibly offer?” Deceit asked. 

“Some semblance of doing your  _ job,  _ to start,” Janus spat, trying to regain his breath. “Are you Self-Preservation or not?”

“And yet, out of the two of us, you’re the one in chains. Perhaps you should look to the log in your own eye before you criticize others.” Deceit knelt down, and Janus bared his teeth. “Are you really so proud that you won’t just answer me?”

“Why don’t you ask a real question and we’ll find out?” Janus snarled. “Though if you’d really like me to tell you  _ anything,  _ I’d love to recommend the cartoon Steven Universe; the lessons about friendship really warmed my heart, made me feel all soft and  _ fuzzy-- _ ”

“Where did you come from?” Deceit asked. “And how did you get  _ here _ ?”

“I thought I was a construct,” Janus said. “Wouldn’t that make the answer obvious? That’s what you told Anxiety, after all.” 

His other self’s expression darkened with annoyance.

Deceit kicked him in the chest, sending waves of pain throughout his body. Janus gasped, tears flooding his eyes. Another kick tore a sob out of him, and then Deceit’s hands were on him, pulling him upright and pinning him against the wall.

“Want to change your answer?” Deceit snarled.

Every instinct in him screamed to give in; if he was careful, he might be able to obfuscate enough to satisfy Deceit. But the impostor needing information gave Janus leverage. If he gave in now, he could compromise his future plans. He swallowed blood and thought sickly that he’d have to think of the bigger picture. 

“Not particularly,” Janus said, grinning through tears and bloodied teeth, “but if you really want to know, I came from Thomas, same as you.” He made himself meet the impostor’s eyes, defiant. “As I’m sure you  _ hadn’t  _ guessed.”

“You are not a Side,” the other Deceit hissed. “I _don’t_ know all of Thomas’s Sides. I definitely wouldn’t notice the formation of another with my function.”

Janus widened his eyes. “My apologies,” he said, smirking, already tensed for this situation to get exponentially worse. “Did my sneaking up on you frighten you that much? I  _ swear _ I only wanted to talk.”

Deceit hit him again, and his head snapped back and hit the wall. He blinked rapidly as his vision momentarily doubled. 

“You know,” Deceit drawled. “This hurts me more than it hurts you.”

Sugar exploded on Janus’s tongue, sickly-sweet and almost bitter, a lie meant to twist and wound. Triumph flared in his chest. He could tell when his counterpart was lying; that meant the same was likely true vice-versa, but if he was careful-- if he worded things properly, made his other self doubt his ability to sniff out Janus’s lies-- 

“Somehow I doubt that,” he said, vision slowly returning. His entire body was one huge ache, bruises forming wherever there was flesh; being stuck on this cold stone floor would not be pleasant tomorrow, if he was left alone that long.

Deceit released him, and Janus slumped to the floor. “You really should learn to shut up,” Deceit said.

Janus was about to reply,  _ I could say likewise _ , but Deceit was kneeling down. He grabbed Janus’ wrist and pulled it, and his hand, away from his body. Janus struggled against his grip, trying to pull his wrist back towards his body. 

Deceit put pressure on Janus’ injured hand, and Janus screamed. Pain flooded through him, so intense it whited out his thoughts. Distantly, he was aware of his body moving, struggling to pull away, even without his input, but he couldn’t spare any focus to help it along; the world narrowed to his splintered fingers, the joints and delicate tendons crushing together. His other self had his thumb on one of the breaks. He was pressing into it, widening it in a raw scrape of nerves, and there was-- 

There was--

Deceit let go, and Janus scrabbled back to the wall, curling over his hand and snarling in desperate, instinctive terror. It was all the rattlesnake’s sound with none of the venom, the hissing of a defanged cobra:  _ trick them, become a threat _ with nothing behind it, a corn snake shaking dead leaves. 

His impostor smiled, showing his own hint of fang, and Janus knew his posturing would never have an effect, not like this. They were the same, deep down. Whatever secrets Janus kept, his instincts weren’t one of them.

“One last time,” Deceit said. “Where did you come from?”

“Fuck off,” Janus spat, all fear and pain, no room left for anything witty. He doubted Deceit would have been impressed anyway.

“Two days,” the impostor said. “Perhaps by then you’ll have learned to behave.”

Janus glared, and resisted the urge to ask what the fuck that meant - if Deceit wanted him to know, he would have already said it. 

Deceit left the room without glancing back, and Janus kept his eyes focused on him, searching for the barest hint of a threat, until the door slammed shut, leaving him in darkness once more.

The blackness was so complete it left imprints on the insides of his eyelids, made false spots dance in his vision. Janus closed his eyes against it, counting out his breathing until it slowed to something calm, and felt a  _ difference  _ coalesce around him. 

Then he recoiled, shuddering at the sting of unfamiliarity, and forced himself to look.

The Mindscape functioned in layers: their living space, the Imagination, Thomas’s dreams; and below even that, the wretched malleable space where lost things slipped and forgotten memories retained a foothold, where the lies that Thomas told himself crumbled and rotted into the old truths… that was the Subconscious. Janus knew it like the color of Thomas’s eyes. He knew it like the rhythm of Virgil’s panicked breathing, like the sound of Remus’s pounding footsteps, like the seams on his own gloves. 

He didn’t know this Subconscious at all. It seeped into his wounds like saltwater; Janus felt like a minnow dropped unceremoniously into the ocean, pickling and shriveling in a place he wasn’t adapted to. He had to curl over his ruined hand, balming it with pressure and the touch of his flesh, before the cutting ache cooled; then the worse ache surged in its place and he had to ignore that too, pushing the wrongness away so he didn’t have to look it in the face.

So this wasn’t Thomas’s subconscious. That meant he’d been wrong, sure, but it didn’t change the fundamentals. Janus had to escape. He had to keep himself from letting anything slip that Deceit thought would be useful. All this meant was that his journey would be a little longer than he’d expected, once he was free. 

The lie settled him. He breathed, steeled himself, opened his eyes-- and the rush of color stabbed into his brain.

He didn’t wake until hours later.

*

Afterwards Janus waited, but Virgil didn’t come, not even when he’d counted out six hours and realized it must be the middle of the night. He didn’t arrive bearing breakfast, either, or lunch, and by then he knew Deceit’s game. 

No. Not Deceit’s.  _ He  _ was Deceit, the snake offering Thomas the apple, the devil on his shoulder, the angel at his back. He was the one who protected Thomas from the things in the dark, not this sneering caricature with his hatred and cruel hands. 

The  _ impostor’s  _ game was to starve him out, or possibly to wreck him first with thirst. Now that Janus knew his plot, he could make sure to watch for the manipulations-- could make sure not to give in. 

Right. Of course. That was reasonable, considering his current situation. Not wishful thinking at  _ all.  _

Janus kept his shrieking hand in his lap-- the chains wouldn’t let him tuck it into his clothes to hide it, keep it safe-- and breathed, going over faux arguments in his head. Thomas wanted to tell someone on Twitter what he really thought of him? Here were reasons he shouldn’t. Here was a scenario and all the ways it could go wrong, lose him followers, lose him his life--

He couldn’t get too carried away in courtroom fantasies, though. The agony dragged him back, left him in his cell with nothing but the darkness and the fear of what would come next.  _ Two days _ , the other Deceit had said, but two days until what? As long as he didn’t talk, Deceit would keep him alive, but how long would that take?

Janus was self-preservation - Thomas’ first, yes, but also his own. With Thomas at stake, he wouldn’t break, but he might bend, and warped things didn’t always regain their shape. 

Too long in this situation, beaten and isolated even from his sense of Thomas, the center of his universe, and Janus might not be an effective Deceit. He might be a cringing, mutilated mess-- because who knew how well he could heal in this place, or if the impostor would let him die. He might fail at his job. He might get back somehow to where he should have been and find himself unable to hide his fear or emotions, shattered by lack of interaction into inability to read others without injecting his own assumptions.

… He might spiral into anxious, paranoid hurt, too, thoughts going off the rails. With an effort Janus pulled himself through one of Virgil’s breathing exercises and flexed the fingers of his undamaged hand, grounding himself. This wasn’t productive. He was counting his traumas before they hatched. He had information to get, and plans to make, and even this paltry mind game gave knowledge in its own way.

The impostor wanted him to frighten himself with dread. Now who would he have perfected  _ that _ technique on, Janus asked himself, and the rage was a balm against his fears.

The door slid open and Janus flinched back, pure terror overwhelming his thoughts. It was the sound of the door closing that made him look up, since that had never happened before. In the gloom, he could only just make up the figure that hurried to his side.

“Eat quickly,” Virgil hissed. “He’s busy for now.”

Virgil thrust a paper plate towards him, half a sandwich on it. Janus took it without thinking, stuffing it into his mouth as quickly as possible. Virgil watched, looking mildly impressed at the speed Janus ate.

“Thank you,” Janus said, when he was done. Virgil’s response was to thrust an opened bottle of water towards him.

“I told you to do what he wants,” Virgil snapped as Janus drank. “What could be worth this?”

“Thomas, of course,” Janus said, and Virgil went deathly still. “Or would you not also prefer him happy and safe?”

Virgil looked like he’d never been asked that before-- was staring like Janus had reached through his skin and pulled out something vital, exposed it to the light. “I’m Anxiety,” he said, breath coming short. “I’m-- I scare him. I’m supposed to scare him.”

“But you totally think that’s your only purpose,” Janus said, disbelieving, and Virgil shook his head, starting to glare again. 

“What could you possibly tell him that’d hurt Thomas?”

Janus managed a snort. “As if I’d tell  _ you?  _ You’re good company, V- Anxiety, but I’m  _ entirely _ under the illusion that you’re in my confidence. If you’re so determined to think your only purpose is to harm, telling you would do no good at all.”

“It’s not like I want to hurt him,” Virgil snapped. “But it’s my job to make sure  _ no one else _ does.”

“And who is included in that, I wonder?” Janus said, and Virgil looked away.

“I should go,” Virgil said, grabbing that water bottle and the paper plate. “I- he might come back.”

“Thank you,” Janus said, before Virgil could stand up. “You didn’t have to do this.”

“I shouldn’t have,” Virgil said, lips quirking in a grimace. “Don’t count on it happening again.” 

He’d folded the plate and crushed the water bottle-- had stuffed them both in his hoodie pocket, so subtle-- and he was still looking back at Janus, wavering, likely wrestling down the instincts battling within him. Janus had to be pinging him as another Side, someone to  _ protect  _ from harm. He realized with queasy sympathy that leaving the room might have hurt. 

“My name is Janus,” he said, and Virgil actually flinched. “In case you wanted to know.”

“I didn’t,” Virgil snapped, looking like a mouse caught in a corner. “Try not to actually die.” He left, closing the door silently behind him, and Janus slumped back against the wall. 

One more way to gather information on this Virgil’s relationship with the impostor, what he told him and what he kept to himself, how much the other Deceit could sniff out when it came to lies of omission: all Janus had to do was wait, and see if his counterpart came back in two days to address him by name. 

And if it made Virgil trust him more, see him as something more from just a nameless prisoner, then that would only be a bonus. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: hand injury, abuse, captivity, brief denial of food


	3. Chapter 3

The next time the door opened, it startled Janus from his sleep. He blinked, squinting into the darkness. It took him a while to see the figure, curled up by the wall opposite him, and a while longer to realise he was shaking.

Janus pushed himself upright, and the sound of his chains moving made the figure freeze.

“Virgil?” he whispered.

The silence stretched on long enough that Janus began to worry that it wasn’t Virgil, that it was Deceit, finding a new way to trick him, or worse, that the room was empty after all and Janus was losing his mind.

“It’s me,” the other Side whispered at last, and Janus could hear his voice shaking. “I don’t have any food. Sorry.”

“What happened?” Janus asked. Whatever it was, it must be serious, to drive Virgil here. It must mean that Virgil had nowhere else to go, no one else to turn to than the prisoner Virgil barely trusted not to attack.

He’d guessed at that, but the confirmation that Virgil couldn’t even go to Patton left a sour taste in his mouth. 

“‘S stupid,” Virgil said, hunched into a ball out of Janus’s reach. He was shaking. “I’m-- I fucked up, is all. You get punished if you fuck up, and I keep doing it, I’m so useless I can’t do anything  _ fucking  _ else--”

“Stop,” Janus snapped, keeping his voice down as Virgil had been doing, and the rage was  _ coursing _ through him. “Come closer. I’ll be able to see you a little more, if you do.”

“Right, ‘cause I’m gonna let  _ you  _ hit me too,” Virgil hissed, and Janus snarled back, old habits coming to the fore. 

Virgil flinched, breath hitching, but crawled forward anyway, just enough for Janus’s questionable night vision to trace the outlines of his face.

He went cold with horror. Virgil’s face was a mess of bruises, wrists mottled dark and shoulders tensed in a way that likely meant he was hurt more under his clothes. There was blood crusted under his eye, a blow that had cut his cheek left untended, and his eyeshadow had run down his face. 

He’d been crying. He was crying, just a little, face twisted in humiliation and defensive dislike, panic fraying at his edges. “Deceit did this,” Janus said, testing the words. Everything in him recoiled at the mere thought. 

Deceit, another version of him, hurting his own family, his own friend. Hurting  _ Virgil _ , who was about as threatening as a loyal dog when he was on your side. What possible reason, what nonsensical scheme could require this, could ever have made it so Janus  _ didn’t love him?  _ How could the Mindscape have failed to correct such a fault?

Virgil shrugged, staring at the ground. “I deserved it,” he offered, like that made it better-- like Janus would  _ agree-- _

“Don’t be an idiot,” Janus hissed, because the alternative was crying. “There is  _ definitely _ a reason for that bastard to harm you, someone literally  _ on his side.  _ It’s totally your fault that he can’t stand being around someone without causing them pain.”

“Stop,” Virgil said, more desperate than Janus had ever heard him. “Why are you saying that?”

“Perhaps because I can see better than he can,” Janus said. “What could possibly warrant this level of pain?”

Virgil shook his head, and Janus knew the look on his face. The look of a man confronted with the truth after a life of lies.

“You can’t-” Virgil began, and then cut off suddenly. 

The door swung open right as Virgil began to flinch away, as if putting enough distance between them would do anything. Janus tensed, his chains suddenly feeling heavy around his wrists - if he could get out of them, if he could make it over to Virgil -

“Anxiety,” Deceit said, “Where have you been? I was worried.”

“Failing to get information, mostly,” Janus said, because Virgil  _ succeeding  _ would strain all boundaries of disbelief. “Would you believe he wanted to help you?”

“Is that so,” the impostor said, looking between them. Janus’s heart clenched. The truth was painfully obvious-- Virgil close and nervous, Janus only tensing when Deceit came in-- but his fib had been a knee-jerk reaction, a last ditch effort to mitigate the damage. “Why, Anxiety. If I’d known you wanted to help, I would have let you in sooner!”

Virgil hurried to his feet. “Don’t,” he said quickly. “It- It hasn’t been two days. You said-”

Deceit’s arm moved faster than Janus could track. Virgil stumbled back, one hand clutching his cheek. It wasn’t enough to knock him over, but with Virgil as injured as he was, anything more than the gentlest touch must have been agony.

Janus jerked forwards, snarling, but the chains kept him still. Deceit looked at him, interest flickering across his face, and Janus froze. If Deceit knew Janus cared, if he used it against him-

“I lied,” Deceit drawled. “Obviously. But now that you’re here, you might as well make yourself useful.”

Virgil drew back, paling. “Dee,” he begged. “I-I don’t-- you know I’m not good at that stuff--”

“If you’d prefer to give this job to Remus, I will of course support you  _ wholeheartedly,”  _ the other Deceit said pointedly, and Virgil actually stifled a sob. “But if you’re truly so distressed at the thought of being useful for once, I suppose I can indulge you.  _ Don’t _ sit over there. I’m  _ not  _ going to take suggestions.”

Janus carefully didn’t look at Virgil. Instead he smiled at Deceit, humorless and showing all his fangs, and said, “Outsourcing now? My, Deceit, you’ve lost your touch. I’m almost disappointed.”

Deceit sneered. “Pick a bone,” he said, not taking his eyes off Janus.

“Don’t,” Virgil said. Janus kept his gaze fixed on Deceit, but even out of the corner of his eyes, he could see Virgil flinch.

“So you have another suggestion? I’m all ears.”

There was a tense silence, and Janus was about to speak up, draw Deceit’s attention away from Virgil, when Virgil said quietly, “The scales.”

Deceit turned, smiling. “What was that?”

“You- you could do something to his scales. That- That would hurt, right?”

Horror rose up inside Janus. The imposter walked closer, and Janus kicked out, snarling. It earned him a punch to his face, and then there were hands in his hair, pulling his head up.

“You know,” Deceit said, so close that Janus could feel the breath on his face. “You don’t give yourself enough credit, Anxiety. You’re a  _ natural _ at this.”

Janus had enough time to decide that when he got home, he was going to hold this over  _ his _ Anxiety forever-- the  _ scales,  _ really? What the  _ hell--  _ and then there was the cool edge of a knife at his cheek, drawing along the divot between two scales, and all thought of vengeance flew from his head.

“I _won’t_ need you to hold him down,” Deceit said over his head, then snapped, “Of course I’d love for you to take all day.”

New hands on him, drawing him down to the ground so his face and neck lay exposed. Janus twisted and snapped, catching skin and making the Side flinch, but the hands didn’t leave him no matter how they wavered; they pressed him down by his arms and shoulders, kept him from surging up or getting away, and Deceit straddled his torso, hand still in his hair. Janus strained against his hold. 

“This isn’t necessary,” he said, desperately useless, and his other self  _ laughed.  _

“Are you going to tell me how you got here?” he demanded. “How you came to look like me? The reason you’re here?”

“ _I_ don’t even know the reason I’m here,” Janus shrilled, and Deceit smirked.

“Then you can’t help yourself, can you,” he sighed, and the knife slipped between scale and skin, making Janus choke back a scream. The scale lifted at the edges, levered free with agonizing slowness, pulling loose and spurting blood down his face and--

Virgil’s hands spasmed on his shoulders as the scale pulled free with a sickening pop. Janus shouted, gasping back a sob, and Deceit grinned down at him, all fangs. “Shall I take another?” he asked, faux-polite. “I’m  _ so  _ busy today, it’s not as if I have the time.”

Janus tried to pull back, sobbing, but there was nowhere to go. “Please,” he said.

“Well, if you insist,” Deceit said, sighing as if he was being put upon. 

The knife moved to another scale, and Janus thrashed wildly. “Keep him  _ still _ ,” Deceit snapped, and the hands pressed down on him harder. Janus looked away from Deceit’s grin, and his eyes found Virgil.

The knife dug in again, and Janus sobbed. Virgil grimaced, but he didn’t let go, why wouldn’t he let go? He met Virgil’s eyes desperately, but Virgil didn’t look away. 

Virgil had been so angry when he’d left the Dark Side, had been angry every time Janus had seen him since then, and Janus had fed into it, had prodded and pushed because it was the only thing he knew how to do anymore. 

And now Virgil was holding him down, as the scale was pried loose, and Janus screamed, and did Janus really manage to make Virgil hate him that much? 

“I’m sorry,” Janus said desperately, and Virgil flinched back.

“Well would you look at that,” the imposter said. “Maybe he  _ can  _ learn some manners after all.” He traced a finger along Janus’s face, making him gasp and cry. “Is that enough observation for you, Anxiety?”

“Yes,” Virgil blurted, “yeah, it is, please, he’s had enough--”

“Of course,” Deceit said, horribly pleased. “Let’s trade places, shall we?”

Janus felt Virgil freeze, breath going rapid and shallow above him. Then he moved-- no,  _ please,  _ he couldn’t-- surely he wasn’t  _ that  _ angry, they’d been getting along so much better recently-- and it was Deceit pinning him down, Virgil above him blade in hand. 

Virgil was crying. His hands were shaking, and perhaps Janus should have been wondering how this was affecting  _ him _ but all he could think of was how much more an unsteady hand would hurt. “Anxiety,” he pleaded.

“Quiet,” Virgil snapped, and his voice broke. “Just-- shut up, okay? I  _ warned _ you,” and his hand was on Janus’s forehead, cold and trembling, and the knife pried under another scale. “Close your eyes,” Virgil ordered, and Janus shakily complied.

Virgil. It was Virgil, just Virgil, that was all-- and then the scale yanked free and Janus  _ screamed,  _ kept screaming, so long his voice gave out.

The hands let go of him, and Janus curled in on himself, sobbing. 

“Nicely done,” a voice said from somewhere over him, and then, after a few seconds of just Janus’ sobs, “I gave you a  _ compliment _ .”

“Thank you,” Virgil said robotically, and Janus whined at the voice.

He wanted Virgil near him, wanted him to say if would be alright, to fuss over the damaged scales the way he did over every cut and bruise - but Virgil was the one who did that to him. 

Not his Virgil, he told himself. It was this other, wrong Virgil. His Virgil would never, and once he got home he’d be able to see his Virgil again - see all of the sides and  _ Thomas _ . God, he wanted to see Thomas so bad, Thomas would never let this happen, not even when he hated Janus, thought Janus was the villain from every story he’d heard as a child.

He heard the door slam closed but he didn’t uncurl. 

“It’s okay,” he whispered to himself, and nearly gagged on the sweetness. “You’ve had worse. All according to plan.”

He half-wished the other Deceit would come back in, attracted to the lies like flies to carrion-- that he would get it over with and kill him, put him out of his misery to come back whole-- but no one came.

Janus lay there for an eternity, bleeding and sobbing and cut off from Thomas, and no one came at all.

*

He drifted. The floor was warm and sticky with blood, chains chafing at his wrists, and he couldn’t focus on any of it over the pain. He must have looked a mess, but it was difficult to care. Who could see him? Who here hadn’t seen him at his worst, stripped of cool and artifice, torn to pieces at the whims of a version of him twice as ruthless? He couldn’t have shapeshifted if he’d wanted to. There wasn’t any point.

Janus waited with bated breath for Virgil to come back, to place food just within his reach and back off to a safe distance, maybe to pretend he hadn’t hurt him or tell him what he’d done  _ wrong,  _ but the door didn’t open. Hunger clawed up to gnaw at him, thirst burned his throat, but there was no Virgil to drive it off, to be so jumpy and careful at every kind word.

Of course there wasn’t, Janus thought, sick and despairing. He was an idiot.  _ His _ Virgil was angry at him, had refused to be in the same room for the longest time-- of course this Virgil, who had no attachment to him at all, wouldn’t look on him any more kindly. 

Most likely he’d never liked him, even when he’d come to him all bruised and beaten, even when he’d snuck him food. It had all been a ploy to get Janus’s guard down, to hurt more from the perceived betrayal, and Janus had fallen for it hook, line, and sinker.

Some Deceit he was. No wonder Thomas had thrown him aside like a worn-out toy. No wonder he was here instead, his own personal hell without even the connection to Thomas to sustain him.

He wanted Virgil anyway, even if he didn’t bring food or water. Even if he came in just to make things worse, he-- Janus couldn’t--

“Please,” he rasped, like Virgil might be listening at the door. “Please come back, please, I-I’m sorry, I know you don’t believe me but  _ please,  _ I--” 

A shadow passed by, blocking the light from under the door, and sheer self-preservation struck him quiet. No one entered, though, and the thought didn’t leave his brain. Another Side, friend or enemy, anyone besides his counterpart-- he would’ve taken anyone at that point. He missed every one of them more than he could put to words.

“Remus,” he whispered, reaching out with his power like he could grasp the back of his collar and summon him, bring his other best friend into the light.

He slumped back against the wall, closing his eyes. If he tried, he could pretend he was back home. He was lying on the couch, perhaps, and Remus was just in the next room. If he listened hard enough, he’d be able to hear the smashing sounds that usually accompanied his presence. 

And Virgil was there too - why couldn’t Virgil be there, even if the real Virgil hated him? He was probably perched somewhere he shouldn’t be perched, headphones on. Maybe he wouldn’t even realise Janus was there, so he wouldn’t start yelling and tell him to leave- Janus was injured, he wouldn’t be able to get away, and that wouldn’t matter, Virgil wouldn’t believe him, and then Virgil would start hurting him again, and this time he wouldn’t stop-

Janus sobbed. He was being ridiculous. Virgil wasn’t here,  _ no one  _ was here, Janus was safe. He’d probably keep being safe right until he starved to death, and then he’d come back so he could starve to death again. 

“Thomas,” he said. “Thomas, I’m sorry. You- you can let me back now. I’ll be better, I promise, I- I won’t bother you unless I have to,  _ please _ .”

He broke off into more sobs. Thomas wouldn’t be able to hear him, not from the back of his mind, but maybe- maybe Thomas might forgive him anyway.

The light outside the door went off, plunging him into pitch black. Janus cradled his mangled hand and tucked in his mangled face and reached and reached for a connection that wasn’t there. 

The Subconscious was agony when he reached for it again, but he gripped it harder as it hurt, even as it felt like tightening his grip on a blade. If he reached hard enough-- far enough-- maybe it would feel like Thomas again. Maybe he just had to show willing, to show determination, that he was  _ enough-- _

*

When Virgil came in, Janus twitched and tried to pull himself upright, but only managed to drag himself a little across the floor. His face was hot with agony and the onset of infection, hand receded to a cooler ache but no longer responding past a few flickers of movement; his bruises had shifted black and purple, green at the edges, and some of them felt as though they went down to the bone.

Virgil was going to make them worse, came the thought, and Janus closed his eyes so he wouldn’t have to see it coming. 

Virgil sat a few feet away from him, though, from the feel of it; after a moment Janus looked at him, agony just to turn his head, and Virgil said tightly, “Food for information. I’ll give you water either way, but if you want anything else you have to talk.”

“How generous,” Janus rasped, staring at the ceiling. Virgil was a black ball of nerves in the corner of his eye. “I’m certain I can sit up enough to take advantage of either of those.”

Virgil shifted closer and Janus tried to curl into himself. He shouldn’t have said that, now he’d just made Virgil angry, the way he always seemed to.

“Don’t,” Janus said desperately. “Please. I’m  _ sorry _ .”

Virgil made a choked sound and Janus went still. “I don’t- I’m not- I won’t hurt you.”

Janus laughed bitterly. “Liar.”

“Unless I have to,” Virgil amended. “I- I won’t hurt you unless I have to. I can help, if you want?”

Janus said nothing, waiting for Virgil to approach anyway, but nothing happened. When he finally looked over, Virgil was fidgeting in place. His face was less swollen, now, his bruises starting to fade away. Virgil met his eyes, and Janus nodded.

He still flinched when Virgil pulled him upright, every movement sending fresh agony through his body. A bottle was pressed to his lips, and Janus drank eagerly. The water was cool and soothing against his throat, and Janus gulped down as much as he could before the bottle was pulled away.

“You can’t drink a lot all at once,” Virgil said, sounding apologetic. “It makes you throw up.”

It wasn’t as if Janus could argue for more, considering his position, so he let it be. “What information does he even want?” he asked tiredly. “I’ve said I don’t know where I came from. All tormenting me gets him is--” He paused. All it would get if it kept happening was an increased chance of Janus ducking out, getting out of his other self’s way. The thought wasn’t as chilling as it might have been a few days before. It seemed par for the course, really. But that wasn’t what he needed to ask Virgil right then. “I don’t understand what he wants from me.”

“You’re another Deceit,” Virgil said, looking at the bloody patch in the center of his scales with a queasy expression. “Or a Light Side construct, or whatever. He wants to know what you know about them, or why they sent you, or if you’re really another Side-- stuff like that, I guess.”

“Why would the Light Sides make a construct of Deceit and send it down where he could break its cover?” Janus asked.

“Sounds like something a construct of Deceit would say,” Virgil said, and Janus almost laughed. “I do need information, though,” he added, drawing into himself. “It’s-- better, for both of us, if you give something up.”

Janus wanted to beg for food. He didn’t, because there were limits, but the fact that the thought had crossed his  _ mind--  _ “If I say nothing, I’ll die,” he said, and Virgil nodded. “Which would leave me again unscathed.”

“You don’t want to make him start killing you,” Virgil said, low. “He’ll-- there won’t be any reason not to go further with everything, if he starts with that.”

Janus carefully didn’t dwell on what that meant. It meant Remus, he consoled himself, and said, “Ask me a question.”

Virgil released a breath. “What do you want?” he asked.

“I want to go home,” he said, too quickly to come up with another answer. “Or- I want to help Thomas.”

His Thomas, this Thomas- it didn’t matter. There was no possible universe, no possible torture, that would make him give up on Thomas. 

“Why did you come here?” Virgil asked, and Janus shivered.

“I don’t know,” he said desperately. “I swear- I just woke up here, and then  _ he  _ was there, and-” he broke off, shaking.

“Okay,” Virgil said. “Okay, uh, here, you can have a little.”

Virgil held something against his lips, and Janus opened his mouth, letting Virgil feed him. Humiliation burned through him, but he doubted he’d be able to feed himself, and Virgil must have known that. He chewed it slowly - it was just bread, but it felt like the best thing in the world - as if that could make it last longer.

When he swallowed, Virgil asked, “What do you know about the Light Sides?”

“I know a lot about the Light Sides,” Janus answered. “You’ll have to be more specific.”

“What are they planning?”

“To turn Thomas into the perfect person, I imagine. Never mind that they’ll run him into the ground doing so.”

“That’s specific,” Virgil said, sounding alarmed, and Janus huffed. 

“Too hard to believe? I can assure you I’m telling the truth. Those idiots would make Thomas give up all his dreams if it meant feeling like a good person.” Not that Thomas didn’t want to feel like a good person, which was the only thing that had made the wedding affair excusable. “Wouldn’t you know? You’ve met them, I assume.”

“I’m the one asking the questions,” Virgil said, a line so obviously cribbed from a movie that Janus snorted, “but, uh. Yeah.” He grimaced. “You’ve gotta give me more if you want food, though. Sorry.” Something in Janus’s expression must have given him away, because he added, “I can ask another question if you want.”

“Please,” Janus rasped, and Virgil’s face crumbled just a little.

“How do you know my name?” he asked, quieter, already looking away. “You said-- you called me Virgil. No one’s supposed to know that.”

“Deceit does, surely,” Janus said, confused, and Virgil shrugged.

“I’m not supposed to use it,” he explained, tentative like even mentioning it would get him hurt. “I’m just Anxiety, not-- like Patton or Logan or anyone. I’m not worth a name.”

“Bullshit,” Janus said, nearly a snarl, and Virgil startled, staring at him with wide eyes. “You’re a Side. Of course you get a name. And for your information,  _ Virgil,  _ I know you because-” He faltered. How could he explain this, what was he even meant to say-- “Well. You didn’t really think I was a construct, did you? I doubt even Deceit thinks that, really.”

Virgil bit his lip. “What are you, then?” 

“Deceit,” Janus said, because it was  _ true.  _ “I’m Thomas’s Deceit, the other half of Self-Preservation. We’re brothers in arms, you and I.”

Virgil glared and shook his head. “I don’t know you.”

“You don’t have to,” Janus said, and the realization that he certainly wasn’t getting any more food sunk into him, stole his breath. Virgil might be under orders to hurt him again if he didn’t comply. He might-- “All that matters is that I know you.” He caught Virgil’s eyes, deliberately steady, and asked, “What hold does he have on you?”

“What?”

“Why do you stay with him?” Janus shifted, the question clawing up from him in a frenzy to be answered. “Why haven’t you gone to the Light Sides? Why do you have to  _ let  _ him hurt you, when you’re worth so much more?”

“Don’t say that,” Virgil said.

“Why not?” Janus challenged.

“Because it’s not true! This is where I belong.”

Once, Janus would have given anything to hear those words. Now, the truth of them tasted like ash. “The Light Sides-”

“Hate me! They don’t want anything to  _ do  _ with me. Why would they suddenly decide to help me?”

“I know you think that,” Janus tried. “But that doesn’t make it true.”

He hoped it didn’t make it true. The Virgil he knew was loved by the Light Sides, completely and utterly. What could possibly happen that would change that?

“Stop,” Virgil snapped, and Janus belatedly noticed that his chest was heaving. “Stop  _ lying _ . You don’t - You  _ can’t _ -”

“Even if they don’t,” Janus said, “surely you could change their minds. There has to be a way to make them take pity--” 

But Virgil was already shaking his head. “Look,” he said, voice trembling with rage and what Janus suspected was remembered heartbreak, “I don’t know what you think you know, or why, but-- that’s just not how it works, okay? Not for me. The last time I went to them for help, Pr- Creativity almost killed me. Even Patton said I had to go.” He looked down, blinking back obvious tears, and said darkly, “Not like I’d fit in with them anyway. I belong  _ here _ .”

“Oh, yes, because you match Deceit’s temperament so well,” Janus said. Virgil flinched. “You deserve friends, Virgil. No matter  _ who _ thinks otherwise.”

“What, are you offering?” Virgil asked, baring his teeth, and Janus nodded. His expression went complicated then, fear-shame-disgust rising up in a wave. “ _ You _ don’t count,” he snapped. “I’m interrogating you. I  _ tortured _ you. Lying about how you feel about it isn’t gonna win you any leeway.”

“Nevertheless,” Janus said, wondering if Virgil was about to stop supporting his weight and leave, taking all salvation with him. He tried for a smirk. “Will it win me any more food? I did answer your questions, after all.”

Virgil blinked hard, mouth wavering. “Yeah,” he muttered, reeking of anxiety. “Yeah, it does. You did.” 

He let Janus lean on him, carefully avoiding his ravaged hand, and Janus scraped up the strength to use his other hand to eat. Stale bread and water, the prisoners’ classics. At least it was easy to get down. 

He desperately wanted to ask after Thomas, but pushing too hard now could lose him everything. He’d have to content himself with the knowledge of the Light Sides’ existence, however strange and cruel, and with the fact that Virgil, at least, was looking to preserve Thomas’s life. 

At the end of it his strength flagged, and Virgil brought the bottle back to his lips, let Janus tilt his head back to drink. Janus’s breath hitched at the motion-- his head was back, hand close to his face, and it would be  _ so easy  _ for Virgil to dig in his fingers and pull even more of him apart-- and Virgil murmured, “That’s right, you’re doing good.”

Janus almost cried. Virgil helped Janus lean against the wall after, then stood staring at him for a long while, eyes fixed on his face. Then he left, closing the door behind him, and Janus drifted blessedly off to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings: Captivity, abuse, graphic torture, facial injuries, denial of food


	4. Chapter 4

Days blurred. Janus had been trapped in the same tiny room for days-- weeks?-- with only two other faces for company, cut off so completely from Thomas that his only clue the man wasn’t in a  _ coma  _ was Virgil’s continued calm. 

He started measuring time in visits-- five visits from Virgil ago, there had been the torture session that took his scales. Three visits ago, Deceit had come in and burned sick red patches into his chest, making the cell reek of cooking flesh. One visit ago, Deceit had come back and talked to him, honeyed-sweet, and told him he could rest if he gave him what he needed-- that Deceit would let him go, would take off his shackles and let him have a bath and have Anxiety visit as long as he wanted, wouldn’t that be nice?

The haze of sweetness that followed Deceit had been too strong for Janus to discern the half-lies from the blatant ones. Janus thought he might have snapped and called him paranoid, told him he was hardly plotting a takeover from his nice little cell and if he wanted to know more about the Light Sides he could go talk to them  _ himself _ , but he couldn’t remember the details.

Deceit had rubbed salt into his wounds.  _ That _ had taken the forefront, hours of pain until Virgil crept in and furtively washed it all away. Janus had been left soaked and shivering, but he hadn’t even cared about the discomfort. His standards really were falling by the day.

And then Virgil came back and Deceit wasn’t the one who was with him. Virgil entered first, and slunk to the back of the cell, not meeting Janus’ eyes. Wonderful. That meant Virgil was there to  _ watch _ . 

“Well, Black Shamba, you look terrible,” a voice said from the doorway.

Janus jerked his head up. It wasn’t Deceit in the doorway, but Roman.  _ Roman _ in his white outfit, which was probably the worst thing he could wear to a torture session. 

“Roman?” Janus croaked.

“So you’ve heard of me,” Roman said. “Well, perhaps you’ll find me more persuasive than the usual fare.”

Janus glanced over at Virgil, who was staring at Roman, eyes wide in horror. Funny, Virgil hadn’t looked like that in the last torture session. Which meant he was either especially scared of Roman, or-

Janus looked back at Roman, searching for any inconsistency. He  _ looked _ as perfect as ever, but something about him was off. Janus surreptitiously opened his mouth, tasting the air of the cell. The sweetness was the same, cloying kind as rotting food. Not Roman, then.

Janus should have been able to sense the difference as soon as the impostor had walked in. That he  _ hadn’t _ was.. worrying.

“Oh, honestly,” he drawled, “is that the best you can do? I’m amazed you managed to even come up with a nickname, if you think I’d believe you brought in a  _ Light Side  _ to torment what you claim is their own construct.”

Virgil sucked in a sharp breath, and Roman’s face darkened. “I know how you lie, snake. If you mean to imply that I of all people am an impostor--”

Dear god, was this how Janus seemed when he tried to impersonate Logan and chose the wrong tie? The secondhand embarrassment was staggering, even tempered by the knowledge that this was shaping up to be another torture session and he was pissing off the person  _ doing the torture.  _ Some things simply couldn’t stand.

“You really should have asked the real Creativity for tips,” Janus said. “Don’t you realize context matters? You might as well have shown up as  _ Patton.” _

Roman took a step forward, and honestly, he got the look of anger  _ all wrong _ . “Perhaps my knife work will convince you.”

“Sword,” Janus corrected. “Creativity uses a  _ sword _ , not knives. It’s like you’re not even trying.”

Roman- no, not Roman,  _ Deceit _ , Janus had to remember that or he’d go mad- crossed the room and knelt beside him. “I do prefer swords,” he said, “But knives are so much better for this sort of work, wouldn’t you agree?”

“You’re really going to keep pretending? Do you think I’m  _ stupid _ ? I can taste lies, you moron.”

“Call it a creative exercise,” Deceit said, eyes bright with rage, and drew a line of fire down Janus’s bare chest. He bit back a scream, pain slicing through him, and felt hot blood well up and dribble onto his lap. The cut was thin but deep, missing vital organs by perhaps a millimeter; his chest heaved and pulled at the edges, sending fresh agony through the wound. “You see, I’ve learned something absolutely  _ fascinating  _ about the applications of knives. There are some areas of the body with  _ much  _ more sensitivity than others! For instance-”

He cut into the inside of Janus’s thigh, and this time Janus couldn’t choke back his cry. “I could always go for someplace worse,” Deceit said, making Janus freeze in horror, “but I think today I might have some measure of mercy. A prince has got to put on a good example for his subjects, after all.” He grinned. “Would you like me to cut out your tongue?”

Janus pressed his lips close together. If Deceit went through with his threat- Janus was already chained down, unable to fight back. Without his words, he would be completely helpless.

“Well?” Deceit asked, tracing the tip of the knife against Janus’ lips. It was still coated in his own blood, so close to his mouth he could almost taste it. “I asked you a question.”

Janus shook his head desperately, and then stopped and held himself still. If he said no, would Deceit do it anyway? Should he go along with this instead, say Deceit could do whatever he wanted?

“I suppose we could come to an arrangement,” Deceit said. “But you’ll have to keep silent. Or are you too stupid to manage that?”

Janus glared, but said nothing, self-preservation keeping him silent. Deceit smiled, and the knife returned to his chest. This time, the cut was shallow, drawing blood across his skin. Compared to what else Deceit had done to him, it was a papercut.

“Not too stupid, then,” Deceit mused. “How about a bigger challenge?”

Virgil made a choked sound, hands flying over his mouth. Janus didn’t sense so much as a flicker of power from his counterpart, however; this was Virgil’s response alone. Promising, he thought, and braced accordingly.

Deceit put the knife at the edge of one of the burns, teasing the seared-raw edge with the tip, and Janus’s breath hitched. “Keep quiet,” Deceit reminded him in the exact tone Janus used to tell Remus when the best time to startle Thomas was, and sliced some of the burnt flesh loose. 

Janus arched and gasped back a muffled whine, biting his cheek so hard he tasted copper. Deceit slapped him at his missing scales, making him recoil, and said, “ _ Do _ let me catch you cheating. I said no sound, remember?”

If he cut out Janus’s tongue-- he’d already broken one hand. Janus would have one hand left with which to write, to impart information, which meant it had to be a bluff unless the impostor meant to kill him and bring him back. It had to be. He still wanted information, didn’t he? So this was another mind game.

Janus’s chest heaved, and he blinked back unwelcome tears. Whatever Deceit saw in his face made his expression darken. “Or perhaps this  _ slimy _ villain has a soft spot,” he said, putting on Roman’s dramatic tones. “How about this, then, if you’re so stubborn: make a sound, and Anxiety loses  _ his _ tongue instead.”

Virgil made a choked, scared sound, hunching in on himself. He met Janus’ eyes across the room, pleading. Clearly, Virgil didn’t think Deceit was bluffing.

But then, it never took much to scare Virgil, to convince him of the worst case scenario. Deceit needed Virgil; Virgil was a way to influence Thomas, after all. Would Deceit give up the power Virgil granted out of spite?

The knife dug in again, still cutting into the burns, and all reason fled Janus’ mind. He bit down on his tongue as the knife moved, struggling to breathe through the sobs in his throat. If he could just focus on breathing, then maybe he wouldn’t make any noise. The knife pulled away, and Janus shuddered, going limp against the wall.

“Better,” Deceit said. “How long can you last?”

As it turned out, a threat to another Side let Janus last for hours. Every time he came too close to screaming, his innermost self bubbled up and choked him, pushed back his words like he’d repressed them. He ravaged his cheeks, bit into his tongue, rasped his throat raw with desperate effort, but he couldn’t have made a sound past gasping if he wanted to. 

A good thing, too. Chances of being a bluff aside, Janus could never have withstood his counterpart holding Virgil down and  _ mutilating  _ him, no matter what he had to promise to make him stop. It didn’t matter that this wasn’t his Virgil, just an Anxiety dumb enough to have been tricked into Deceit’s service before he could learn better-- he looked the same. He acted the same, and he’d started crying again once Deceit cut deeper, silent unwilling tears that streaked gray down his cheeks. 

Still, even without Virgil coming to harm because of him, Janus didn’t know how much more of this he could take. 

Deceit and the other Virgil left him bleeding and gasping on the floor, unable to speak without his function stabbing him through the heart. He couldn’t convince himself that Virgil would be safe if he did-- that  _ he  _ would be safe if he did. He could barely breathe past the agony. 

Too long. He’d been here too long, so long that the constant torture had become normal, that he differentiated good days from bad by whether Deceit decided to visit, or brought Virgil along. His world had narrowed to this tiny room, these chilly shackles. When he wasn’t careful, when he didn’t remind himself, he could almost forget that he’d ever lived anywhere else at all. 

_ That _ was unacceptable. Janus closed his eyes and took a breath, shuddering at the burn in his throat, the aches all over him, and deliberately recalled his own, actual life.

Virgil, younger and his same height, determined not to suck his thumb and convincing Remus to duct tape it. Janus had tried to get it off, but his nine-year-old attempts had been less than effective; Virgil’s hands had been duct-taped for a week.

Remus, when Thomas first realized he was gay, cackling and falling over himself to make him think of porn and genitalia and any unrealistic sex act he could think of, painting bloody erotica all over the living room walls. 

Patton, smiling at him in the kitchen and trying to convince him to alter a recipe to see what happened. 

Roman, putting on a performance and looking over with a hopeful, dazzling smile.

Logan, setting up a Powerpoint on the merits of Powerpoints and lecturing for a straight hour after Roman called him boring, making sure to padlock all the doors and insisting that Roman take notes on this  _ incredibly _ interesting topic, and perhaps if he’d wanted something different he might have listened instead of offering unproductive insults--

Remus, grinning through bloody teeth--

Virgil, hunched and snarling, saying  _ you’re wrong, you’ve always been wrong, we’re bad for him and making it  _ worse--

Thomas, looking over the boardwalk at a seagull trying to swallow a hamburger bun. 

The shift was so abrupt that Janus shot upright and immediately doubled over, sight blitzing out with pain. Thomas was wearing flip-flops. Thomas was on a boardwalk, at the beach in early summer, wondering if he’d been dumb not to bring a better umbrella (if the umbrella was functional, if it could kill him, if he could make it look better and  _ don’t forget to wear sunscreen kiddo!).  _

Thomas, thinking to himself that he really should have begged off going into the water this week, so close to a red tide, and could he fib and say he had an open cut or something…?

_ Yes _ , Janus wanted to tell him.  _ Yes, just lie, no one will know and even if they do, what will be the harm _ . He wanted to stand by Thomas’ side, to coach him on the best thing to say; he’d even put up with the others’ handwringing, if meant looking after Thomas.

It would be so easy, too. Barely a lie, so small that even Patton wouldn’t be able to object.  _ Sorry, but I don’t think I’ll be able to go in. Maybe next time? No, I don’t mind if you go in without me, go ahead. _

“Sorry,” Thomas said to his friends, “But I don’t think I’ll be able to go in. Maybe next time?”

One of his friends began to ask if Thomas wanted them to stay with him, and Thomas began to promise that he’d be fine-

And Janus was back in the cell. He reached for the connection to Thomas, caught hold of it- just enough to know that he was safe, that his friends had accepted the lie- and lost it again. He snarled in frustration. He’d seen Thomas! He’d spoken to him - not in the way the others spoke to him, the way he’d suddenly gotten used to, but the old way; whispers in the back of his mind, too subtle for the Light Sides to notice and stamp out.

It didn’t even matter that it wasn’t his Thomas; it was  _ a  _ Thomas, slightly to the left, perhaps, but still  _ Thomas _ . It would be impossible for Janus to not love him.

Janus leaned his head back, staring at the ceiling. He could barely feel the burn of his wounds. The connection was still there, too faint to grab. And he’d helped Thomas once; he’d be able to help again.

He’d have to be careful, even that one fib might have been too brazen, go too far and he might call attention down on himself. But he’d been subtle before; he’d spent years working in the shadows of Thomas’ mind, and now weeks being tortured with no end in sight. If he picked his moments, perhaps he could slide between Deceit and Thomas, undermine Deceit’s influence.

Perhaps, if he had power, Virgil would-

But he was getting ahead of himself; that would all come later. For now he would watch, and wait for the cracks to appear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warnings: Torture, knives, impersonation


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edit: This was first posted with the begnning section missing, so if this chapter didn't make sense to you, that's why xD It's been fixed now

By Deceit’s next visit, Janus had gotten Thomas to send an anonymous ask on Tumblr (lying about his age and identity all the while) and to tell his Aunt Patty that he did, in fact, love fruitcake and it was definitely a summer kind of food. Little triumphs, ridiculously pointless, but they bolstered Janus immensely. 

Deceit bashed in his ribs until something audibly snapped, kicking at the cuts so they reopened and started to bleed. 

Janus caught a hint of Patton’s repressed emotions and almost whooped for glee.

Virgil came in with a split lip and a furtive tube of yogurt-- someone really needed to tell him how to eat properly-- and helped Janus upright, wincing when he choked at the feel of food on his bitten tongue and muttering a shameful, guilty thanks for not screaming during Deceit’s little game. 

Janus got Thomas to smile at someone he hated.

Deceit tore off two of his fingernails, left him starving for four days, kept Virgil away until Janus’s instincts were screaming at him to  _ find him help him is he _ **_safe_ ** , and Janus clawed his way into his other self’s domain and started planting roots. 

When he closed his eyes and found himself  _ looking-not-looking _ at the Light Sides and Virgil scattered around Thomas’s living room, arguing about whether Thomas should be volunteering or if that was a waste of time better spent rehearsing for a cameo appearance on a Nickelodeon show, he wanted very badly to grin. 

Clearly he should have been rehearsing-- unless the optics of volunteering at something he didn’t even enjoy doing or care about outside of feeling he  _ should _ meant good publicity-- but Janus wasn’t anywhere close to being able to give his opinion outright like that. For now, he contented himself with watching as the other Sides argued, basking in the realization that they were there and safe and not as different as he’d first thought, and kept an eye on Virgil.

Anxiety, in marked contrast to the other three Sides, was slouched into the wall of the stairwell and glowering without words. He looked… healthy. As healthy as he could be, in the circumstances at least. Janus couldn’t see any bruises on his face, though whether that meant Virgil wasn’t hurt, or Deceit had been smart about where to hit, or something else entirely, Janus didn’t know.

“- The opportunity of a lifetime!” Roman was saying, waving his hands around dramatically. It was so different from Deceit’s cold, mocking impression of him, that Janus almost laughed in relief.

“But this volunteering could change lots of lives,” Patton argued. “After everything we’ve been given, don’t you think we should give something back?”

“I do,” Thomas said, looking as conflicted as always. “But this rehearsal is really important. It’s not like anyone really expects me to volunteer, either, do they?”

“Well, it would be impossible to do both,” Logan said. He held up a timetable - remarkably similar to the one Thomas used in school - and pointed to it. “I did, of course, map out the time requirements for each weeks ago.”

“Well, I think it’s clear which one we should choose,” Roman declared. “Thomas, if you screw this up, you might as well  _ die _ .”

“...Thanks, Roman.”

“We could die anyway,” Virgil pointed out. “Just think, any moment could be our last.”

“Aw, Anxiety, don’t say that,” Patton said. “We’re thinking about rehearsals, not whether Thomas is gonna need a re- _ hearse!” _

Four things happened, so fast that Janus almost couldn’t register them. Virgil’s lips twitched-- his hand jerked, face going still like a puppet with its strings drawn-- Janus hissed in his cell, a split-second reaction, and yanked the strings  _ back-- _

And Virgil laughed, a helpless little snort that was almost a giggle.

All eyes turned to Virgil, who shrunk back, hand covering his mouth of his own volition this time.

“What was that?” asked Thomas.

“Nothing,” Virgil muttered.

“Anxiety, did you just  _ laugh _ ?” Patton sounded delighted.

“He did,” Roman said. “I never thought I’d see the day.”

“Really?” said Logan. “ _ That  _ is what makes you laugh?”

“Hey, don’t we have an argument to get back to,” Virgil snapped. “I laughed, big deal.”

“It’s just… you’ve never done it before,” Thomas said.

Virgil shrugged. “Maybe I just never found your jokes funny.”

“Nonsense,” Roman argued. “Thomas’ jokes are excellent. And  _ that  _ is why this show is perfect for him.”

The conversation continued, returning to the same tired circles. Janus barely paid it any attention, he was watching Virgil, who, when no one else was looking, stared down at his hand as if he’d never seen it before.

Eventually, they decided that Thomas should do both - much to Logan’s dismay. Much to Janus’ dismay, also, since Thomas was clearly heading towards a burnout. Virgil left as soon as the matter was settled, and Janus pulled back just in time for Virgil to burst into the cell.

“I laughed,” he blurted, and Janus almost laughed, too, even though the movement dragged at his wounds. If he hadn’t known what Virgil was talking about, he couldn’t  _ imagine  _ what that opening would have told him.

“Congratulations,” Janus drawled, risking a painful smile. “Did you finally notice that you’re capable of emotions? Here I thought that was Logan’s issue.”

Virgil glowered at him, indignant. “That’s not what I- look,” he said, moving towards Janus, then caught the tension in his frame and lowered himself into the other corner instead, lowering his voice. “I’m not-- I’m supposed to be scary. I can’t laugh or smile or whatever if I’m supposed to be doing my job, it’s-- I’m not  _ allowed.” _

Janus carefully kept his fury at that from his expression. “But you laughed,” he said, and Virgil nodded. Here was the risk, the leap of faith that he really shouldn’t be taking-- but this was Virgil, and he’d figure it out before too long, however distractible he could sometimes be. Deceit had wanted one thing; someone else had cancelled that out. An action had solicited an equal and opposite reaction. That meant a counteracting force-- and there was only one Side in the Mindscape both willing to defy Deceit and able to carry it out.

Janus smirked and said, “I  _ won’t  _ admit it was a rather silly pun.”

He could  _ see  _ the moment the words sank in, the way his face shifted from confusion to shock. “You did that,” Virgil said.

Janus nodded.

“Why? No- never mind,  _ how  _ did you do that?”

“It’s all in the wrist, really,” Janus said. Sure, it would probably irritate Virgil, but he wanted to know what conclusion Virgil would come to.

“You’re not a construct,” Virgil said, slowly. “That wouldn’t- only a side could do that.”

“Well, there you have it, then,” Janus replied. “I suppose I must be a side after all.”

Virgil was silent as he processed this. Janus had almost expected Virgil to have figured it out by now, he must have suspected, surely, unless he was so far gone that he accepted everything Deceit told him.

“You’re a  _ side _ ,” Virgil repeated. “Why- what  _ are  _ you?”

“Isn’t it obvious? I’m Deceit.”

“Deceit,” Virgil echoed. “Like-” he gestured a hand towards the doorway.

Janus grimaced. “I’d like to think I’m a better version of him.”

Virgil relaxed slightly. “Oh. That makes sense, I guess.”

Janus had absolutely no idea what Virgil was talking about. He wondered if he should check for a head injury. “It does?”

“Well, yeah.” Virgil’s tone turned gentle. “Look, it’s not the first time this happened. There used to be only one Creativity, you know.”

Well. Janus hadn’t been trying to trick Virgil into thinking that he’d split from Deceit, but it looked like he’d tricked him anyway.

“If that helps you categorize me, then sure, that’s completely correct,” Janus said, for a moment wondering if he’d  _ know  _ if he’d split off from an evil version of himself. Perhaps his memories were constructed after all, or Thomas had sustained a head injury that rewrote the history of his mind-- oh, who was he kidding. “Though I’d consider myself more of an alternate reality version of him myself.”

“You’re not really convincing me here,” Virgil said, and Janus managed a shrug. 

“I  _ don’t _ suppose the effect is similar either way,” he said, “however irritating it is to be considered an offshoot of-” He faltered, fear closing his throat. If Deceit  _ was  _ listening-- “Of him,” he amended. “You might as well call me  _ good  _ lying, at least in comparison.”

He shifted, moving his hand back into his lap. It had become something of a dead weight the past few days, nerves giving in and letting the pain ebb to a dull ache. He’d gotten used to doing things one-handed. “I can totally believe he won’t even let you laugh,” he said incredulously. 

Virgil shrugged, leaning closer, and the dissonance almost hurt. They could have been two friends, gossiping about Remus or Roman’s most recent escapades. They could have been students complaining about a teacher. Instead they were prisoners, talking about a shared tormenter like it was  _ normal,  _ because it had become that way. 

Janus in chains, Virgil sneaking in to talk and pretend like he wasn’t made to torture him every few days-- these things were  _ normal,  _ now. They had been for a long time.

Janus felt like crying. 

“He says I need to be scary,” Virgil answered. “That, uh, that I can’t show weakness around them.”

“Oh, that makes  _ complete _ sense,” Janus drawled. “Otherwise Thomas might start to  _ like you _ .”

Virgil looked at him as if Janus had just declared the world was ending. “That’s not- Thomas isn’t supposed to  _ like me _ .”

He said it with such certainty, as if he was insisting that the sky was blue. He’d said it before- or rather, Janus’ Virgil had, all bluster.  _ Thomas isn’t supposed to like me, he’s supposed to stay alive _ . But everytime, Janus had been able to taste the hint of the lie. 

And then Virgil had started coming back different.  _ Thomas said I could stick around _ ,  _ Thomas laughed at my jokes _ . Perhaps he never expected Thomas to like him until Thomas suddenly did, but he’d never wanted Thomas to hate him.

“He might listen better, if he did,” Janus said. “He always listens to the Light Sides, doesn’t he?”

“Yeah, because they’re the  _ Light Sides _ . Why the hell would he like me?”

“I like you,” Janus pointed out. “Is it so hard to believe someone else would?”

“Yeah, but you’re crazy,” Virgil said. “Anyway, you have to like me; I’m the one who gives you food.”

“But I didn’t have to let you laugh,” Janus argued. “You wouldn’t have even known if I didn’t.” He rankled a little and added, “And how exactly am I crazy? I’m  _ not _ just trying to do my job.”

“You got your hand broken because you wouldn’t talk,” Virgil said, widening his eyes pointedly. “You still won’t talk, you-- you’re  _ pushing _ him. Seriously, Janus, you can’t keep doing this.”

The sound of his own name-- of Virgil’s bald concern, no less-- warmed Janus’s chest. “If you have an alternative that doesn’t involve my ceasing to exist, I’m open to suggestions.”

Virgil squirmed. “You could try to cooperate,” he said, and whatever he was thinking tasted of denial. “He might-- you can shapeshift, right? Because you’re also Deceit. He might decide you’re useful.”

Janus said, low, “You know that’s wishful thinking.”

“It doesn’t have to be,” Virgil snapped. “Look, I used to be mad at him, too, but it’s no use. He controls everything down here. He’s always right. Even when you think he’s  _ not, _ something happens to prove you wrong. Once I stopped fighting all the time, he got a lot nicer.” His voice cracked, and he glared at the floor, hands fisted in his hoodie. “Sue me for wanting some  _ company _ for once. You said you’re my friend, right? Then you can-- you can be my friend outside this room. You can get him to keep you around.”

“He won’t,” Janus said. “Don’t you think he knows what I am by now? Why keep asking for information he knows I don’t have?”

“But you  _ do  _ know things. Even if it’s not what he’s asking for, you could at least give him  _ something _ .”

Janus shook his head. “I know what he wants, and it’s not something I’m going to give him. And this-” he gestured at Virgil “-isn’t  _ nicer _ . You think what he’s doing to you is  _ right _ ?”

Virgil shook his head. “What else am I supposed to do? It’s not like I can  _ stop him _ .”

“That’s funny,” Janus said, keeping his voice as low as he could. “I thought I just did?”

Virgil froze, realisation dawning on his face. “He’ll know. You’ll get caught.”

“Then where is he? Surely if he realised, he’d be here by now.”

Virgil shuddered and glanced at the door as if he expected Deceit to storm through it. “So what if he doesn’t? What am I supposed to do,  _ laugh at him _ ?”

“There’s a lot to laugh at,” Janus said. “And no, but did you really think that’s all I can do?”

Virgil shook his head. “You’re crazy. He’s going to find out, and then-” Virgil broke off, staring at the ground.

“You won’t have to put yourself in the line of fire,” Janus assured, hoping it was true. “You don’t even have to think about it, if you don’t want to. But if you’d happen to act a little less bristly around the Light Sides for the next few days, I’m  _ not  _ sure there’s some way you could be helped along.”

Virgil fidgeted. “This is a horrible idea destined to end in pain and failure,” he said, a familiar refrain. “Probably we’re gonna get caught immediately and fucked up until we can’t even think, or worse, and he’s going to bring out the big guns--”

“We’ll burn that bridge when we come to it,” Janus said, and Virgil hissed at him. He flinched the next second, eyes going wide; fondness welled up in Janus’s chest. “Like I said,” he murmured, soothing, “you don’t even have to think of it. Just act how you want to act with them.”

“Great,” Virgil muttered. “Nice of you to remove all plausible deniability before you go through with it.”

Janus caught his eyes. “What are friends for?” he asked, soft as he could sound with his scream-ravaged throat. 

Virgil stared, choked out, “Shut up,” and left in a blur of shadow. 

Janus leaned back, closed his eyes, and pulled a few more threads from Deceit’s monstrous web.

*

Over the next week Janus planted hooks, and some of them caught. Virgil hung out in the real world, advising Thomas on why he shouldn’t risk making a profile on a dating website, and grudgingly complimented his appearance. Virgil added onto a word association game and immediately denied doing so. 

He softened, roughest edges smoothing away, and once when Patton beamed at him he quirked his lips in something close to a smile. Not even Deceit’s newest tortures could tarnish the satisfaction Janus had gotten from that. 

Virgil even managed to gain an invitation to dinner on the Light Side one evening, slipping into the cell afterwards to gush about it-- though of course he denied experiencing anything close to a positive emotion. 

“Patton made pasta,” Virgil said, curled up in his favorite corner near the door. Theoretically it would let him slip out if Deceit came in with the least chance of being noticed, though of course he would never manage something so smooth; rather, Janus suspected, it was fight-or-flight taking hold and making him catalogue the exits. His Virgil had done the same. 

“Is that so?” 

Virgil hunched into himself and added apologetically, “I wanted to bring you some, just. You know. You’re not supposed to be eating right now.”

“I’m not at all thankful that you haven’t kept to that rule,” Janus said, “even if your idea of a filling meal is an oatmeal bar and half a pack of Twizzlers.”

“Twizzlers are awesome,” Virgil defended, bristling at the insult. “It’s not my fault they remind you too much of snakes or whatever. I thought reptiles were all _for_ cannibalism.”

“First of all, I totally don’t resent that,” Janus said, rolling his eyes, “and second of all, please do mention that in front of _him._ The first thing we need is to give our mutual friend ideas.”

“Sorry,” Virgil mumbled, braced like he expected to be hit.

Janus said, softer, “You know I don’t blame you.”

“I know you’re a _liar_ ,” Virgil countered, “so don’t even try.” He shifted, pulling his sleeves back over the new bruises on his wrists. As always, the sight of them made Janus want to snarl. “Thomas wants to have another conversation about the new videos tomorrow,” he offered, not meeting Janus’s eyes. “I think he might actually want me involved.”

“That’s good,” Janus said. “That’s how it should be.”

Virgil admitted, breath going shallow, “I don’t know what I’m supposed to _do_.”

“You do what’s best for Thomas, like always,” Janus answered.

Virgil shook his head. “Deceit knows what’s best for Thomas. I don’t-”

“But you know how to keep him safe,” Janus countered. “Won’t that be so much easier if Thomas wants you there?”

Virgil chewed his lip. “But what if _he_ doesn’t like it?”

“Thomas is the one who decided, not you. You’re just doing your job.”

“Will you be there?” Virgil asked quietly. “I mean, you must be able to see us, otherwise you couldn’t-” He gestured with one hand.

“That is _not_ what it looks like!”

“Sure it’s not,” Virgil muttered.

“But yes, I’ll be watching.”

Virgil nodded, managing a smile. Something in Janus’ heart warmed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TWs: Captivity, reference to injuries, reference to abuse


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW's at end notes!
> 
> Bit of a short chapter, but it had a good end point, so XD

This much, Janus knew: his counterpart was spending hours at a time in the Subconscious, scouring it with sour desperation for something that could explain where Janus had come from. His counterpart was cruel to Virgil when he wasn’t indifferent, and now his indifference was waxing strong; he didn’t care what Virgil did so long as he didn’t release Janus, which he couldn’t, and he seemed to be counting on the Light Sides’ antipathy to keep Virgil under his thumb. 

He was alone a lot, somewhere deep in Thomas’s mind where the monsters lurked, keeping Remus too far away for Janus to reach-- and while the cat, or rather snake, was away, the mice could play. 

Thomas summoned Virgil and the Light Sides that afternoon, sitting at his kitchen counter with pages of potential scripts scattered across it and a pen in his mouth. Janus slipped through the widening cracks in Deceit’s control, subtle as ice eroding a boulder, and observed.

“I’m trying on makeup brands,” Thomas said, and Roman cheered. Patton also cheered, apparently in support, and Logan groaned. “Sorry, Logan, but I’m not sure viewers wanted to hear about the history of the blobfish.”

“Your channel is far too frivolous,” Logan argued. “The least we can do while attracting young viewers is to instill in them a love of  _ science.”  _ He waved a hand, gesturing either to himself or the air. Janus really couldn’t tell which. “Have you considered that yet another makeup video merely enables your viewers to continue not to take you seriously?”

“I think it’s empowering,” Patton said. “All those kiddos learning boys can wear makeup too, just ‘cause Thomas is!”

“Not to mention that he doesn’t need any excuse to be fabulous,” Roman said. “Just look at him! Flabby he may be, and oddly pale, but he has  _ quite  _ the booty! What sort of pirates are we, that we wouldn’t share it with the world?”

Logan and Thomas said, in unison: “What?”

“Okay, I’m gonna come in here and say that Thomas should not be sharing any part of his  _ booty  _ with the world,” Virgil said, drawn up like an affronted cat. Patton nodded in firm, if confused, agreement. “Also, he’s not putting makeup on his butt.”

“He totally could, though,” Roman said, and then frowned. “Wow, who knows where that came from. What am I even saying?”

Janus felt a thrill of recognition. Remus and Roman sometimes merged ideas, Roman coming out with images of naked relatives and Remus with surprisingly nice analogies. The fact that Remus’s influence was boiling up at  _ all-- _

“Hey, Anxiety, I bet you could help a lot on this!” Patton said. “You’re always wearing all that gloomy emo makeup, aren’t you?”

“Oh, please, it can’t take that long to put on,” Roman scoffed. “It’s foundation and smudges under his eyes, how much effort could it be?”

“Depends on if I’m covering up bruises,” Virgil said, shrugging, and Janus's heart seized up.  


“Bruises?” Patton squeaked, and Virgil froze, looking like a deer in the headlights.

“Why would you have  _ bruises _ ?” Thomas asked, sounding horrified.

Janus could practically feel the anxiety radiating off Virgil. He wanted to tell Virgil to get out of there, now, but the most he’d be able to do would be to silence him, and there was no use in that now. 

“I mean, only sometimes,” Virgil offered weakly, as if that was any help, and Janus pushed his thoughts towards him. He’d told Thomas what to say many times, but he’d never tried it with another Side. “I sit in a lot of weird places.”

“And you never thought to stop?” Roman asked, but the others seemed to accept this half-explanation.

Still, something tugged at the connection, a shark drawn in by the scent of blood. Janus realized what was happening too late to try to warn Virgil; he felt the connection  _ pull  _ out of his grip-

He gasped as he was forced away from Thomas, falling forward from the effort, only to wince at the pain it sent up his body. Deceit had  _ seen,  _ and Virgil was still up there, still had no idea than anything was wrong.

The cell was empty. Janus tried to close his eyes and reach out again, to  _ warn  _ if nothing else, but his mind bounced back at him, trying to grip without handholds. There was something coiling in him, though, the instinctive response of a snake when another bared fangs, and he knew that he wouldn’t be taking the blame for this one. 

Virgil was the one in the Light Side. Virgil was the one who had slipped up, who might have made the others _suspicious,_ and how funny that Janus had lied to him after all, that he’d gotten him into this mess in the _first_ _place--_

“You can’t think you can keep it from me forever,” Janus snarled, half as threat and half to provoke, to draw what ire he could. The words echoed through the Subconscious as  _ truth/lies _ , a cold sibilant undertone that he knew his counterpart would hear. “We’re the same, you and I. We travel the same paths. So long as I exist, I won’t let you know peace.” 

Above him, the conversation must still have been going on. Was Virgil nervous? Was he smiling, thinking that he could talk this over with Janus later, sneak him more food and be comfortable, have a friend for the first time in his existence? 

He was  _ Anxiety _ . It was always so difficult to get him comfortable with anything, and now that he finally was creeping out of his shell, Janus had lined him up for the slaughter. “You can’t believe I see Anxiety as more than a means to an end,” he said into the Dark Side, and the lie was so weak it scalded his tongue. “If you want to punish  _ anyone--”  _

_ Punish me,  _ he finished, silent and despairing, but by then it was too late.

An hour later, somewhere far outside his room, he heard Virgil screaming.

*

He stayed awake the rest of that night, waiting for the slightest clue that Virgil was even  _ alive _ . The screaming stopped after a while, though whether that was because the punishment was over or because Virgil  _ couldn’t  _ scream-

He shuddered, and drew into himself. The best thing, he knew, would be to rest while he could. Staying awake wasn’t helping Virgil, and he had no doubt that Deceit would hurt him soon, make him scream and beg just like Virgil probably had, except there was no one to sneak in to Virgil after Deceit left, to give him food or hold him as he gasped for breath. He’d pushed Virgil into a worse fate than his own.

He was awake when the door was pushed open, and the figure stood in the doorway- no cloak, and Janus almost sobbed with relief.

“Virgil,” he said desperately. “Come here, let me see what he did.”

“What do you think he did?” Virgil asked, stepping inside. As he moved, the sweet miasma Janus had grown used to wafted across the room. Virgil must have been in denial about something. He crossed into the light, and Janus almost screamed at the sight of him; his face more beaten than Janus had ever seen it, and there was blood coating his shirt.

Janus held out one arm as much as the chains would allow, a silent gesture of  _ come here _ , but Virgil didn’t move. “You lied to me,” he said, voice breaking. “You- you said he wouldn’t hurt me, that he’d only go after you--”

“I’m sorry,” Janus choked out. “God, Virgil, please believe me, this is my fault entirely and I understand that you’re angry, you totally  _ don’t  _ have every right to be, just-- come here? Please? At least let me help you. It’s the least I can do.”

“The  _ least--”  _ Virgil broke off with an incredulous snarl. “You’re the one who caused this! Why am I even nice to you? I trusted you, I thought we were friends, and you throw me to the wolves the first chance you get?”

“Virgil--”

“Stop it, stop  _ calling _ me that,” Virgil snapped, and his eyes were wet with tears. “I’m not supposed to use it. You know that. You spent this whole time setting me up so you could get off lighter, and now you’re acting like you  _ care?” _

Janus went cold with horror. “V- Anxiety, I didn’t do that. I wouldn’t do that, I  _ love  _ you _ ,  _ I would never--”

“You didn’t stop me,” Virgil said, and the tears spilled over, angry and humiliated. “You let me mess up in front of everyone, right where I’d get in the most trouble.”

“I’m sorry,” Janus said desperately. “I’m so sorry, I wasn’t fast enough, I’m sorry. I swear-”

“You  _ swear _ ?” Virgil snarled, marching forwards. “Why should  that mean anything? You’re a  _ liar _ .”

“Virgil,  _ please _ -”

Virgil’s punch sent Janus sprawling. He cried out when he hit the ground, every injury screaming with fresh pain. Tears sprung to his eyes, but whether they were from the pain or the horror at _everything_ he had no idea. 

It was okay, Janus told himself. Virgil had hurt him before. This wasn’t any different than that-- was  _ better _ than that, actually. Maybe if Virgil thought he’d gotten his revenge, he’d be able to forgive him.

“Fuck you,” Virgil snarled. “You can find someone else to manipulate; I’m done helping you.” He clenched his fists. Janus couldn’t breathe. “Have fun with the  _ Duke _ .”

Janus forced himself upright, pale and shivering. His ruined cheek screamed where Virgil had hit it and broken the scabs; the half-healed cuts and burns on his body seethed with pain, drowning out the renewed twinges of agony from his mangled fingers. 

None of that hurt as much as Virgil accusing him of manipulation and leaving him alone to wait for Remus-- as much as Virgil doing it  _ again,  _ that was, except that in this new, hellish world the results were infinitely worse.

His Virgil hadn’t hit him. His Remus hadn’t been a torture device, tucked away when not in use. How could he have ever thought he’d had it bad before? Now, he’d kiss Thomas’s feet for a chance at his old life, even back in the Dark where the Subconscious reached its tendrils. He’d beg for the chance to be alone, so long as Virgil and Remus were elsewhere safe, no matter how they hated him.

Useless, thinking of it now.

If Virgil was swearing off helping him, Janus consoled himself, that might put him in Deceit’s favor. It might make him less of a target. 

God, Janus wished it might at least do that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: torture, abuse, description of injuries

**Author's Note:**

>  **Trigger warnings:** Captivity, chains, abuse, descriptions of a hand being broken


End file.
